


Flowers And Ink Stains

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Is there a tattoo fandom??, Marvel, if so - Fandom, tattoo fandom
Genre: "STEVE UR PRETTY GAY U KNOW THAT", "Steve!", "Yes Rogue?", Angst, Based off of that post about flower shop/tattoo shop AU, Bucky's got a little more to love, Drug Mention in chapter 7, I also wanted some black representation so wassup, IGNORE THEM AND READ THE STORY, Knife Mention, Lots of things happen to Steve, M/M, Rated T bc there might be something in later chapters if I can find a friend who can write gay porn, Steeb lives in a black neighborhood bc i wanted some diversity, Stucky - Freeform, THESE TAGS ARE LONG, They're a duo!, and a lil humor, anyway, but enjoy the ride if you're still reading it!, but here pals take this as a peace offering., gun mention, he's a sad gay nugget, i'm such a piece of shit for writing this instead of working, idk where this is going tbh, lmao these tags are so dumb, mentions of abuse in chapter 4, sadly im taking a tumblr hiatus so no prompts or w/e, some ppls can be triggered by that so ye, the f slur is used in chapters 4(?) and 7, this is my story and I'll do wtf i want, thnx, u can message me and ask for a fic idk, who knew amirite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2390630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is a skinny guy who runs a nice tattoo shop, right across from a pleasant flower shop, run by a really cute guy. Are they really as different as they seem?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Is How Things Work Around Here

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Steven Rogers was a tough-looking guy. If you didn't know him, you'd think he'd be one of those guys who's small, but packs a .45 in his jacket. He's skinny, yeah, but his presence is known as soon as he walks into the room.

No, it's not because he makes his presence known by acting out. I mean, yes, the reason people notice him when he walks into the room is kind of his fault, but he's not exactly a normal-looking guy, either.

To go with his skinny, short frame, he's covered in tattoos. He's even got a piercing on his lip to top it all off. He wears combat boots and the plain, white t-shirts he always wears to work, with holey acid-wash jeans. Usually, his clothes are ink-stained and ripped, but if he wants to look nice, he'll throw on a flannel button-down and shine his shoes for once.

All of these things make Steve seem like such a cheap, dirty guy. But when you walk into his tattoo shop, you see the exact opposite. You see a man with a warm laugh; smiling at you as he tells you that it might hurt a little if you get a tattoo done. You see a guy who loves his mom. He's even got the oh-so-original "mom" tattoo right on his bicep.

He's a free spirit, he tries new things. Yes, if you are asking, he's been to a nude yoga class. It was actually pretty nice.

His shop is in a nice part of town, right across the street from a flower shop. Damn, that flower shop. He had a perfect view of that storefront and the guy who worked there. He'd even memorized the guy's schedule like a creep:

**8:00 AM: Arrive with new flower arrangements.**

**8:30 AM: Set up shop and switch the "Open/Closed" sign to "Open".**

**9:00 AM: Say hello to little children passing by on the way to school; slyly tuck a flower in a random little kid's hair.**

**9:30 AM: Go to the coffee shop next door, get donut holes and a large coffee.**

**9:45 AM: Catch that tattoo guy looking dreamily out of the window towards him. Smile and wave.**

 

He's systematic, that guy. Apparently, his name is Bucky. According to a kid he'd cornered (his mom called Steve a heathen and pulled the boy away as he was telling him about Bucky. "If you show me your tattoos, I'll tell you about Flower Dude!", is the deal the kid made in exchange for the information.), he's "married to the flowers", according to the kid, who was lacking two front teeth. 

Damn it, if that didn't make the man cute, Steve didn't know _what_ did. That last part is a total lie. Steve can give you a nice, long list on what makes that guy cute and amazing:

_Why Flower Man Is Amazingly Cute: A list by Steven G. Rogers._

  1. He has a nice walk.
  2. He always has his headphones in; whatever he's listening to makes him do little dances as he works around the shop and walks to the coffee shop.
  3. When he smiles, his eyes crinkle up at the edges.
  4. Bucky's clumsy.
  5. Speaking of clumsiness, when he bends over, you can tell that he eats a little more than usual. It's the cutest thing, honestly.
  6. He wears these sweaters in the fall and during winter; they have quirky things on them, from cats in boxes to reindeers on a playground.
  7. He hugs little kids and talks to their moms while he fixes flower arrangements.
  8. He dresses up as an elf every December, reading stories to little kids, making large gestures with his hands and making silly faces.
  9. He has this cute expression when he's serious, scrunching up his face while he writes down who-knows-what.
  10. ~~He makes me feel like I don't have to breathe~~ He talks to the flowers. ~~I wish I were one of those flowers~~



Honestly, he could go on and on about this guy. The thing is, Steve's allergic to flowers.

 

This could prove to be quite a problem.


	2. I'm Pretty Cool...Right??

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky isn't hip to a lot of things. Including Steve's crush on him.

Every day was the same for James "Bucky" Barnes.

 

  1. **Drive to work in a car filled with new flower arrangements.**
  2. **Set up shop and talk to the kids who're on their way to school.**
  3. **Get food from nearby coffee shop.**
  4. **Look at Steve and pray to God that he can't see the blush that spreads on his cheeks as he waves at the tattooed man.**



See, Bucky was always sure to make sure he didn't mess up his schedule, or else he might get thrown off completely. Of course, he had times where he switched things up a bit. Sometimes (don't tell his mom), he got food _before_ he set up shop. In all honesty, though, he liked his life. He had a small apartment that didn't ask a lot when it came to rent, but that might be because of his neighbors.

 

The thing is, they griped about absolutely _anything_ and _everything_ that they could think up.

But he got over that.

 

Since he's on the subject of things he's gotten over, Bucky thinks about things he **_hasn't_   **gotten over, such as Steve. Gosh, that Steve guy was amazing. Bucky had watched Steve interact with costumers when he was on break, eating lunch in the shop.

 

He had this smile that could light up the darkest of nights, and when he laughed, anyone who saw it started to laugh along. Bucky hadn't even ever _heard_ his laugh before, but just seeing the way his face lit up gave him butterflies. Speaking of butterflies....

 

The "Flower Dude", as the local kids called him, had seen one first grader (the one with the snobby mom, geez) talk to Steve a few weeks ago, pointing Bucky's way as he spoke. Steve had lifted up his head to see who the kid was talking about, quickly looking back down at the boy to listen intently to what he was saying.

 

After the kid had finished talking, Steve did something absolutely _incredible_.

 

He gave the kid a temporary butterfly tattoo, except it wasn't a butterfly; it was one of those...err.....Poke-Me-Mans, or something. A lot of kids liked those, apparently. The boy (lacking two front teeth, aw), crossed his arms, pointing at Steve's torso.

 

Steve smirked and pulled his shirt up and off, revealing a beautifully colored mural of different-colored ink on his skin. Bucky's jaw dropped, trailing his eyes down his chest, all the way down to his waist, where two vines snaked down below his belt on either side. Snapping out of the staring contest he'd had with Steve's belt, Bucky brought his eyes all the way back up to his collarbones, where there was a tattoo of two snakes, intertwined and travelling up his neck, all the way to his jaw.

 

Bucky stopped himself from ogling the tattoo artist anymore, walking into his own shop. Actually, he kind of tripped into his shop. Some kid must've dropped their highlighter, because Bucky's foot accidentally slipped on it. That day, Steve occupied Bucky's thoughts. He accidentally called someone Steve twice. After he closed up, he stuck around for a little while, writing stuff he was thinking about.

 

_Why Steve, the Tattoo Man, is Amazing and Should Be Mine: a list by James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes._

  1. _His smile is amazing._
  2. _That lip ring doesn't help the situation._
  3. His arms are skinny, but they're kind of muscular at the same time.
  4. He looks really nice in camo pants.
  5. His hair is really nice when it's parted to the side as usual.
  6. Those pieces of art on his skin make him even _more_ of a masterpiece.
  7. His neck is long, but it looks amazing, elegant, even.
  8. His look of concentration is sexy as all get-out. He bites his lip and runs his tongue over his lip ring sometimes.
  9. ~~He's beautiful in every fucking way and he wouldn't like a pudgy loser like me~~ Even when old ladies are mean to him about his appearance, he treats them with love and hugs them once he's calmed them down. ~~I wish I had love and hugs from Steve~~
  10. ~~He's all of the things I'm not~~ He plays nice music from his shop.



He looked up from the paper, watching Steve lock up, hopping in his  '69 Thunderbird and driving off to wherever it was that he called home. Bucky figured he should lock up as well. List in hand, he stepped out into the warm night air, staring as Steve's tail lights faded into the night. Bucky crumpled the list up into a ball, throwing it across the street, where it landed on top of a little birdhouse Steve had put on the front of his store.

 

"Fuck you, Steve! Damn your good looks and your charitable nature!" He said with a loud laugh as he put his headphones in and walked to his car, doing a little dance. He shimmied this way and that, spinning in a small circle as he approached his car and slipped into it, driving home to do whatever it was that lovesick florists did at their homes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no inspiration until now. it's 6:25 PM.  
> I hope you guys like it!!!! I added a few tags and played with some details about Steve since we got some about Bucky in the last chapter.


	3. Sometimes, Realization Hits You In the Head. Literally.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ow! Who put that there?!

Steve was sound asleep, slivers of sunlight shining through the blinds of the window next to his bed. It was 7:59 AM, and he was due to wake up at 8:00 AM, just like he did every morning for work. He snored loudly, rolling over and letting his foot hang off of the bed, leaving it to dangle right in front of his dog's face.

 

His dog was a sweet thing, a big Saint Bernard that liked to lick any human he saw. Thunder was his name, thanks to Steve's friend Natasha, who'd noticed that he let out a playful growl before he went to slobber all over you. "Thunder always brings rain, right?" Steve had recalled Nat saying.

 

Thunder started to lick Steve's foot, making him squirm and let out a huff. "Bucky, stop, 'mticklish," Steve mumbled with a small laugh as he shifted in bed. He continued to dream about Bucky for about five more seconds when he was rudely interrupted.

 

_**Beep, beep, BEEP! BEEP BEEP BEEP! BEEEEEEEEEEEEP! BeePBEEPBEEPBEEP!** _

 

"Okay, okay, I get it, I'm up!" Steve grumbled, getting up and scowling at the light shining directly in his face as he opened his blinds completely. Soon, the scowl changed to a bright smile as he saw kids wave at him while they walked to the bus stop. God, he loved those kids so much.

 

See, Steve didn't exactly live in a place you'd except a white guy in his 20's to live in. He lived in a (mostly) black neighborhood. It wasn't rich, but it wasn't in shambles, either. The kids were polite, teaching Steve things they'd learned in school and playing games with him. Their mothers held big parties at the end of the cul-de-sac every weekend, making delicious food and dancing with their husbands and kids. Basically, Steve wouldn't dream of living anywhere else.

 

The 26 year old was pulled out of his thoughts by a little girl named Alecia, who had stopped her trek to the bus stop to stare and giggle at him. Today, she was dressed up as a princess, a crown neatly placed on the shock of curly hair on her little head.

 

"Hi, Steve! Whatcha thinkin' about? I like to think about princesses sometimes," She said with a toothy smile as she cut through the grass of his front yard to lean in closer to Steve when she got to the window. "I'm a princess today for school, Steve!"

 

Steve chuckled, smiling widely as he reached over to pick her up so that she could sit on the windowsill, letting out a laugh as she squirmed and giggled loudly when he tickled her afterward. "Well then, Mrs. Princess Alecia, today's your lucky day, because Prince Steve has a special chariot just for you. But first, you need to run back to your mommy and tell her to call me!" He said, a big smile growing on his face as she hopped off of the windowsill, barely getting out, "The princess has her chariot! The princess has her chariot!" in between breaths as she ran to her mom.

 

After about two minutes of convincing Alecia's mother to let him take her to school, Steve and Alecia hit the road. She'd found his sunglasses while digging through his glovebox, placing them on her face and readjusting them with a huff every time they slipped down her face because they were too big.

 

They talked about how fun first grade was, and Steve told her stories about knights and castles and brave princesses who did just as good as knights did, if not better. He even showed her the dragon tattoo on the inside of his wrist. As they drove up to the school, Alecia pointed out her friends and teachers, saying goodbye to Steve and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

 

Steve drove to work happily, turning up the radio and singing along to the songs that came on. When he arrived at his shop, he hopped out of his car, strolling to the door and unlocking it, entering the shop and getting to work. Throwing out old magazines and sweeping the floors, the usual. His stomach started to grumble when he realized that he'd forgotten about breakfast.

 

Locking up the store, Steve stopped to take a look at the florist's shop. He'd started thinking about Bucky again when something hit him in the head as the wind blew. He let out a grunt of surprise, bending down to see what had hit him in the head. It seemed to be a....piece of paper?

 

Steve went against his better judgment and opened up the ball of paper which looked to be blank, until he looked at the other side of it. _Damn, whoever wrote this has good handwriting_ , Steve thought. As he walked across the street to the coffee shop, Steve read it quietly to himself.

 

_Why Steve, the Tattoo Man, is Amazing and Should Be Mine: a list by James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes._

  1. _His smile is amazing._
  2. _That lip ring doesn't help the situation._
  3. His arms are skinny, but they're kind of muscular at the same time.
  4. He looks really nice in camo pants.
  5. His hair is really nice when it's parted to the side as usual.
  6. Those pieces of art on his skin make him even _more_ of a masterpiece.
  7. His neck is long, but it looks amazing, elegant, even.
  8. His look of concentration is sexy as all get-out. He bites his lip and runs his tongue over his lip ring sometimes.
  9. ~~He's beautiful in every fucking way and he wouldn't like a pudgy loser like me~~ Even when old ladies are mean to him about his appearance, he treats them with love and hugs them once he's calmed them down. ~~I wish I had love and hugs from Steve~~
  10. ~~He's all of the things I'm not~~ He plays nice music from his shop.



 

Steve was too busy looking down at the paper and being confused to see someone walking directly in front of him. Before they both knew it, they were on the concrete. That would've been perfectly normal if Steve hadn't landed directly on top of.. Bucky?!

 

Bucky was furiously apologizing to whoever he'd bumped into, until he saw who he'd _actually_ bumped into. A blush crept onto his cheeks and ears as Steve sat up, coincidentally straddling Bucky. "Aw, man, I'm such an idiot, look, are you alright? I was reading something and-" Steve spoke, being promptly being shut up by the fact that he'd knocked down and straddled the guy he'd had a massive crush on.

 

Bucky tried to regain his composure, whispering a small "hi" at a babbling Steve. "I mean, uh, I- uh, here, this note hit me in the head and I know it was super nosy of me to read it but I did," Steve ran on. 

 

"D-do I really look that nice in camo pants, Bucky?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooooo, i'm gay trash you motherfuckers
> 
> I might update another chapter in the same day if you guys like it!


	4. That Was Easy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Who knew I could pull off a scheme like that?" Bucky says as he pets his cats and smiles.

   "I have to go, I'm sorry!" Bucky said in a panicked tone as he slipped from under Steve and ran away, blushing like a fifth grader. Bucky had never felt this way before; he'd never had someone affect him this way. Bucky had never even exchanged two words with this damn guy! 

 

   Steve watched in awe as the man ran away to his shop.  _Boy, that Bucky has a nice ass...everything about that guy is amazing,_ Steven thought as he sat on the pavement, disgruntled and possibly love-struck. Then, it finally dawned on him.

 

   He'd just heard Bucky's voice, and Bucky had just heard his. 

 

   Steve shook off the thought (for now, at least) and got up, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel shirt and going back to his tattoo parlor without breakfast. Steve did the usual, making sure he has enough ink for the day, cleaning the display case, just like always. After he did his start-up tasks, he got to do his favorite thing.

 

   He got to pick the songs that would play from the speakers outside of the shop throughout the day. He made six playlists every weekend, one for each day the shop would be open to the public. The 25 year old took his music seriously, thinking about what people would want to hear when they walked past (or, better yet, inside) his shop.

 

   After a few minutes of determination, he finally chose the day's playlist out of the five he had to choose from. He chose the one titled "Playlist B". I think you know what the "B" stands for.

  1. Jenny - Walk The Moon
  2. All the Small Things - blink-182
  3. Mother's Little Helper - The Rolling Stones (Yes, Steve knew this song was about drugs- it was still his favorite song, his mom used to dance do it when he was little.)
  4. Blitzkrieg Bop - The Ramones
  5. Last Nite - The Strokes
  6. Electricity - Arctic Monkeys.
  7. Heroes And Villains - The Beach Boys
  8. Flawless (Remix) - Beyonce' feat. Nicki Minaj
  9. Beez In The Trap - Nicki Minaj feat. 2 Chainz
  10. Hold On, We're Going Home - Drake feat. Majid Jordan
  11. Moonage Daydream - David Bowie
  12. Midnight Memories - One Direction (Come on, it's a good song.)



 

   As "Jenny" started playing, the lyrics of the song reminded him of Bucky. As Steve dealt with a customer and their transaction, he listened to the song intently.

 

  _Oh and Jenny why don't we, Jenny why don't we be getting together_  
 _I said Jenny shouldn't we, Jenny shouldn't we be getting together_  
  
 _J-J-J-Jenny's got a body just like an hourglass_  
 _But I'm taking my time, I'm taking my time_  
 _I wanna be the sand inside that hourglass_  
 _Take it slow, oh, oh, gonna make it last_

 

The customer left, leaving a polite "Bye, Steve!" as they headed out the door. Steve looked across the street to see that Bucky was not in his shop. He was usually just about to eat lunch around this time, sitting at the counter where he checked out items for customers. As he pondered where Bucky could be, he heard a loud thud, followed by a shout, coming from outside of his shop.

 

   Steve ran outside, seeing Bucky scrambling to get up. The smile faded from his face as he was about run away again. Steve went after him, grabbing his arm.

 

   "Hey, wait! What just happened? Why'd you run away from me earlier?!" Steve questioned, fed up with the thought of Bucky running away from him. 

 

   Bucky yanked his arm away from him and started tugging at the hem of his sweater, which had a cat playing the piano on it. He quietly mumbled, "I was dancing to that song while I was on the way here to apologize for running away earlier, and I fell." 

 

   Steve's facial expression softened at the admission (and at that cute sweater, but he wasn't going to tell anyone that.). Steve racked his brain for the appropriate response and found it after a few seconds. "It's alright. Sorry for bumping into you like that. I'm also sorry for reading your- AH-CHOO!"

 

   Steve sneezed right on Bucky. It was the pollen from those flowers. As Steve started up a giant sneezing fit, Bucky caught on about a minute later. 

 

   "Oh shit," Bucky muttered as he took his sweater off, revealing a shirt with a cat riding a skateboard on it. His metal arm glistened in the sunlight as he threw the sweater on a chair outside of Steve's shop, leading Steve inside of the tattoo parlor, marveling at the designs on the walls and the music that played softly as Steve's sneezing calmed down.

 

   "Sorry about that, Steven. I didn't know you were allergic to pollen like that," Bucky said, a slow blush creeping up his neck as Steve took off the jacket he had on to reveal that same plain, white, v neck shirt that showed off his chest and neck tattoos amazingly. "Y-You have a nice shop here, Steven."

 

   Steve smiled at Bucky softly, putting his hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Thanks. And loosen up, will ya? Only my mom calls me Steven," Steve said, walking towards a shelf where he kept records of purchases and the like. "So, I barely know you and you barely know me. What do you like? What don't you like?" The tatted-up man reached for something on the top shelf, his shirt coming up just enough to where Bucky could see a little more of the vines that snaked down to where the "v" in his hips started. 

 

   Bucky blushed more intensely, stammering out a response to Steve's questions. "I like music and I like sweaters. I also like flowers, as you may have noticed. I also like cats. I have three. Mittens, Socks, and Tiger." Bucky thought about what else he could say, but he didn't get anything out before Steve said something.

 

   "I like music too, man. I have a giant dog. His name's Thunder. By the way, I love your sweaters. If you don't mind me saying this," Steve trailed off as he sat at his counter and looked over documents, making little marks on random pages. He spoke again. "If you don't mind me saying this, you always look very cute in your sweaters. I like how they're always animal-themed."

 

   "Thanks, Steven-"

   Steve gave him a look.

   "I mean,  _Steve._ I like wearing sweaters a lot, I feel naked without them. That sounds weird, doesn't it? I promise I'm not like this all the time, I-" 

   Steve cut him off again. "What's the matter with being weird, huh? It doesn't change the fact that you're nice. It doesn't change anything. Don't call yourself weird in a deprecating tone like that. Be happy about being different, Buck. I hope you don't mind me calling you that." 

 

   "No, no, I don't mind," Bucky said, blushing terribly. "So, how'd you get into being a tattoo artist, Steve? That is, if you don't mind me asking."

 

   Steve looked up from his papers, his long fingers fiddling with a pen and his pink tongue nudging at his lip ring as he thought. After a few seconds, he spoke.  "Well, I came out as bisexual to my parents when I was about fifteen. My mom was alright with it, but my dad wasn't. He beat me and my mom, told me that no son of his was gonna be a fag. Told my mom that it was her fault for raising her son like this while he was out drinking all the time. I had lots of bruises from him, and mom made me wear itchy sweaters to cover them up." Steve leaned his seat back and propped his feet up on a stool next to him with a sigh.

  "One day, I finally got tired of wearing those terrible sweaters. I thought, 'Is there another way to cover this up?' So, I got a pen and started drawing over the bruises on my arm. I always loved to draw, so I let my imagination run wild. Before I knew it, my whole arm was covered in drawings, and you couldn't even see the bruises from my old man. My mom was wary of me drawing on myself at first, but she was fine after a while."

   Bucky hummed in approval, listening intently as Steve spoke, his voice music to the cat-lover's ears.

   "Every time I drew on myself like that, more and more people told me that I would do amazing as a tattoo artist. So, I looked into it, and ten years later, here I am. I'm 25, I live in a place I like, I'm my own boss, and nothing could go wrong."

   

   Bucky chuckled. "They should make your life into a movie. I'd pay to see that." After he said that, Bucky had the coolest idea. "Hey, Steve?"

 

   "Yeah, Bucky?"

 

   "Would you mind if I looked at your tattoos?"

 

   "Nah, I wouldn't mind. I'll even take it one step further. I'll let you take a pen and draw on me, maybe see if you can give me something cool to add as a new tattoo design. How's that sound?"

 

  "Sounds cool. Where's that pen, Steve?" Bucky wasn't gonna lie, he was pretty excited that he'd get that close to the guy he had a giant crush on.

 

   Steve beckoned for Bucky to come closer and grab the pen so he could start. Bucky came behind the counter where he was, taking the pen and smiling shyly.

 

  "Where do you want me to draw?" Bucky said, his heart racing at how close he was to this amazingly handsome man.

 

   Steve pointed to a section on his wrist void of tattoos. Bucky noticed that it was big enough to fit a phone number in it. "Steve, close your eyes, I want you to be surprised." Bucky said with a laugh as Steve closed his eyes.

 

   Bucky wrote his phone number on Steve's skin gingerly, with just enough pressure to where he wasn't hurting Steve, but the ink showed up. Around his number, he drew little spaceships and aliens and cats. He also added a little rose at the end of the number. Then, Bucky spoke up, feigning a sad tone. "Aw, Steve, I gotta go. It's closing time over at my shop, and I gotta get home and feed my cats."

 

   Steve's eyes snapped open as Bucky ran out the door. He swore under his breath and closed up shop. "I guess it was good that it was a slow day." Steve muttered as he pocketed the keys to his shop and got in his car. Bucky was already gone as he drove home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   Later that night, as he was about to wash his hands, Steve noticed something out of place on his wrist. There were cats, aliens, and spaceships surrounded by a phone number with a little rose at the end of it.  _This is where Bucky drew, right? It was! So does this mean he likes me??,_ Steven thought, completely abandoning dinner as he was much too happy to do anything to possibly mess up the phone number on his wrist. He wrote down the number on a piece of paper and took a picture of Bucky's drawing with his phone before he went to bed. As he sat in bed, he couldn't sleep.

 

   Steve decided to call his best friend, Natasha, who was a Tae Kwon Do instructor at the local gym.

 

   The phone rang about twice before she picked up.

 

   "What's up, Stevie? You're usually out like a light by this time. It's 11 PM."

   "Natasha, I'm too happy to sleep. A guy gave me his phone number."

   Natasha let out a little squeal of delight. "Tell me everything about him."

 

   The phone call ended at 1 AM the next day. Steve fell asleep with his phone in his hand and his dog curled up next to him on the bed. He usually didn't let Thunder sleep in his bed with him, but it was a special occasion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the unexpected hiatus, guys!!! School came up. So did writer's block. As always, I take prompts At my tumblr, popsiclesteve.tumblr.com!


	5. The Team Forms.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll be your sidekick.

Steve was in a deep sleep, dreaming about being on a date with Bucky after successfully calling the number the sweater enthusiast had given him. He couldn't hear what Bucky was saying during the date anymore, he could just see his mouth moving as he heard a very loud guitar solo start, which was followed by an equally loud "ONLY IN DREAMS! ONLY IN DREAMS! ONLY IN DREEE-EE-EE-EEAMS!"

The sounds startled Thunder awake, who automatically went to Steve's face to lick and drool on it. Steve pushed the big St. Bernard off of him and rolled over to turn his new alarm clock off. Natasha had slept over at his house a few weeks ago and forced him to make a run to Best Buy to buy a clock that had an iPhone dock on it. Since it could play music from his phone, he'd made a [playlist](http://open.spotify.com/user/greenandorangegurl/playlist/7s9zjyGireWpNfNlfPpgu9) to run through while he was deep in slumber.  "Thunder, down, boy! Argh, I love you too, buddy, but you gotta get off, dude!" 

The dog jumped off of the bed and Steve sat up, rubbing his eyes and groaning loudly as he stretched. He got out of bed completely and shuffled to the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and splashed some cold water on his face to wake himself up. He yelled as the water's temperature took full effect, his face dripping as he reached for the towel that was usually right next to the sink in his small bathroom. 

 

Key word:  _usually._

 

For some godforsaken reason, the towel wasn't there, so he had to blindly fumble around for the nearby linen closet to get one. In the process, he hit his head twice and accidentally closed a drawer on his fingers three times. Eventually, he found a towel and wiped his face. As he made his way out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen, he saw the phone number on the counter. 

He picked up the slip of paper with the number on it and made his way back to his room where his phone was and called it, not expecting an answer. 

"uh.. James B. Barnes at your service," Bucky answered, his voice scratchy and deep, seeing as he'd been startled awake by his phone going off.

Steve froze, caught off guard by Bucky's morning voice and the fact that he actually answered the damn call. "Uh, hi, it's Steve, I-"

"OH MY GOD, THANK GOD YOU CALLED! I WAS SO FUCKING PARANOID... I THOUGHT YOU DIDN'T WANNA CALL ME!" Bucky pretty much shouted through the phone.

Steve chuckled at the confession as he ran his hand through his blond locks nervously. "I'm glad you wanted me to call you, Bucky. Would you like to continue this conversation at the coffee shop in, say, 30 minutes?"

Bucky practically had to bite his hand to stop himself from squealing into the phone. "Yes! Uh, I mean, yeah man, that sounds great."

"Great! I'll see you then, Bucky," Steve said happily, reaching for the cereal in his kitchen and pouring it into a bowl he'd set on the counter.

"Awesome! Goodnight, Steve-" 

Bucky had told Steve goodnight. Goodnight. Good. Fucking. Night. 

_Way to go, Barnes. Way to woo this man._

Steve chuckled. "Goodbye, Bucky."

Steve hung up, blushing at the fact that he would be going on a date with this incredibly amazing, cute, smart, WONDERFUL man in a half hour. Abandoning his cereal, he scrambled to get ready, throwing on one of his nice, clean (and by clean, it meant no stains, no holes, no cuts that Steve made to "edit" the shirt) shirts and his newest pair of jeans. As he shined his black combat boots, he checked the clock to see that he had twenty minutes left to feed the dog and make his way to the coffee shop.

 

After he fed the dog, Steve grabbed his keys and his phone and proceeded to head out of the door. As he opened his car door, he felt a small pair of hands yanking at his shirt. Turning around slowly, Steve saw that it was Alecia, so he roared playfully and swiped her up quickly, tickling her as he put on an exaggerated monster-like voice and grumbled, "WHO DARES TO APPROACH THE GREAT AND MIGHTY STEVE?!"

Alecia squealed and giggled as her mother watched on from the front porch of her own home, smiling and chuckling softly. Steve laughed along with the little girl, putting her down as she caught her breath. Alecia looked at Steve's attire, making a confused face and giggling. "Steve, why are you dressed up all fancy? Are you going on a daaate? Tell me, tell me!"

Steve chuckled, crouching down to hug Alecia. "Maybe I'll tell you at the block party tomorrow. Do really well in school and I'll tell you all about it. Go on, go to school. You don't wanna be late."

Alecia ran off after kissing Steve on the cheek. Steve loved that little girl more than life itself. It didn't matter that she was someone else's daughter, he just loved her. Her smile could make the world stop spinning and the voice could make the sun come out on a cloudy day. 

Suddenly, Steve remembered his date with Bucky and hopped into his car, (almost, but not quite) speeding to the coffee shop. As he parked, he saw Bucky sitting outside at the coffee tables provided by the shop. Steve smiled and stepped out of the car, sitting at the table as Bucky handed him a doughnut. 

"Here, I always seeing you eating regular glazed doughnuts, so I figured you'd like this," Bucky said, a shy smile on his face.

_Oh my god, this guy knows what kind of doughnuts I like, he's so nice, I'm going to scream-_

Steve blushed, accepting the doughnut and smiling as he screamed on the inside. "Thanks, I'm glad that you thought of me well enough to- Excuse me."

Steve's phone had started ringing, so he excused himself, putting his doughnut down on the table and stepping away from the table to answer the phone. It was Alecia's mom. He figured she was just calling to ask him if he could pick her up from school.

"Hi, Mrs.- Oh my god, why are you crying? What happened?" Steve asked as he heard sobs of utter anguish coming from Alecia's mother.

"My baby, my beautiful baby, she- she- oh god, oh god, oh god," the mother sobbed uncontrollably, which made Steve sober up immediately. 

"Calm down! What happened? Is Alecia okay?"

The woman silenced her sobs long enough to explain her situation in a few short words.

"Alecia is dead."

Steve's face went pale as the phone slipped out of his hand. 

_Alecia is dead. Alecia is dead. Alecia is dead. Alecia is dead. I won't see her joyous smile, her soft, frizzy hair, I won't hear her song-like voice, I won't see her ever again, I can't breathe I can't-_

Bucky picked up the phone and tried to keep a cool head as he heard the sobbing for himself. "Ma'am? What's wrong? Steve seems to have gone into shock, what happened?"

As she explained, Bucky looked towards Steve, who'd collapsed, and felt a wave of sadness wash over him as he still tried to keep calm. Bucky opened the coffee shop door, shouting to anyone listening to call 911. As he got back on the phone with Alecia's mom, he asked what exactly had happened to Alecia.

"She- she was going to school, she had just talked to Steve a few minutes before, and after Steve turned the corner to go to work, a car drove up to the bus stop- she was alone, and whoever was in it rolled down the window and started talking to her- asking her to get in the car, I guess- and she kept shaking her head, refusing- and the person in the car pulled out a gun- pointed it at her head, she still said no. Then I heard the gunshot- I heard it, and the next thing I know, my beautiful baby is on the pavement, blood coming out of her skull," the mother cried as Bucky watched the EMTs put Bucky into the ambulance. Bucky got in with him after telling Alecia's mother to meet him at the hospital.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later, Steve woke up in an unfamiliar room, surrounded by Alecia's parents (Mrs. and Mr. Carter), Bucky, and a few nurses.

"Hi. First things first, why am I here? Am I dead?" Steve laughs. "Did Alecia do good in school today? I promised her I would tell her about the-"

"Stevie, there's no way to break this to you easily. Alecia's dead," the mother spoke, anger and bitterness in her voice.

Steve had a mix of emotions bubble up inside of him so quickly that he almost blacked out again. He turned to the nurses and asked when he could be let out. They told him that all he had to do was sign some papers and he was free to go.

Steve signed the papers, got his clothes, and quietly asked Mrs. Carter what happened. She told him everything, including the license plate of the car that drove up to Alecia.

"Thank you, Mrs. Carter, that's all the information I need."

Steve walked out of the hospital and Bucky trailed right behind him.

"Steve! Steve! Where are ya going?" Bucky asked, out of breath.

"I'm going to find out who did this to Alecia. I can't sit here and do nothing."

Bucky acted on all the feelings he'd had, the admiration, the sadness, the love, the pain- and kissed Steve right where they stood. Steve was shocked at first, but he then returned the kiss roughly. As they pulled apart, Bucky held Steve's face, wiping a tear that had fallen from his eye with his flesh thumb.

"If you're going to do that, Steve, then I'll help you. I love you, and I'd hate to see you live with the fact that you didn't do anything."

"You'd better love me when you see my angry side, because you'll be seeing it a LOT more, Buck," Steve said soberly, his expression hard and unforgiving.

"I will, I promise."

"Good. Let's not waste anymore time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol these days i have tons of inspiration + no time for it LOL  
> anyway thanks 4 reading this  
> didn't think you'd be hit with that, did you?


	6. You'll Be The First One To Find The Shadows That Make The Boy You Undo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Cause the man that you are is defined  
> By the way that you act in the light  
> Break or seize me  
> If the flame gets blown out in the shine  
> I will know that you can not be mine  
> Live or leave me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go listen to Lights On by FKA twigs to see where I got inspiration for this chapter from!!!

A week had passed. Steve hadn't gotten that much sleep, so subsequently, neither did Bucky. He'd either been staying hunched over his laptop or out driving to local dives and looking for shady people who could possibly be suspects. Bucky had already tried to get Steve to go to the authorities, but the only person he went to was his friend who had "other friends", according to Steve. 

As Steve kept following leads he'd get, he stopped talking less and less. When this all started, Bucky had offered to stay at Steve's place for a while for support, which Steve gratefully accepted. Bucky had a neighbor house-sit for him while he slept at Steve's. The first night Bucky stayed over, Steve invited him into his bed, where he reminisced about how bright and amazing Alecia was; how she'd played princess with Steve a few weeks before.

As the days went by, Steve would talk less and less. He would lay in Bucky's arms and sob quietly, his small frame shaking as tears fell from his eyes and whispers about Alecia slipped from his mouth. 

Steve hadn't told Bucky much about Alecia. Well, he hadn't told him why he cared so much about her, anyway.

One night, Bucky asks. 

Steve sits up in bed, he stops shaking and takes in a deep breath, starting to speak. 

"When Alecia was a newborn, she was left on my doorstep. Nobody knows who did it, but that's how it was. I was twenty, I'd had enough money coming in to move into my own place. One morning, I'm heading out the door to go to class as I always did. I remember all of it, it's still always fresh in my mind. I open the door and I see the absolute tiniest human being," Steve chuckles mirthlessly and Bucky's heart breaks.

"I freaked out, man. Here I was, somewhat naive twenty year old Steven G. Rogers, stuck with a baby. I started looking up information on how to take care of a baby, and for a year, I had a baby. I got the weirdest looks, the meanest words, too... They'd say, 'Why do you have that nigger baby?', or 'It doesn't even look like you.', and 'Its real daddy probably left it because it couldn't pay the child support.' I spent so many nights angry, I spent so many nights crying myself to sleep because I'd been fighting so hard for her to stop be called an 'It'; to have her be treated like a real person."

Bucky just listened, trying to hold back the tears that tried to flow from his eyes. He held Steve closer as he shook, trying to regain enough composure to speak again.

 

"One day, I'm sitting there playing with her, showing her the tattoos on my arms, telling her what they are. There's one specific tattoo I'll always associate her with, too," Steve choked up as he pointed at the simple tattoo of a heart on his left arm. It had a banner running across it, the words "TOUGH LOVE" scripted boldly on it. "I pointed at it like I always did, I started to read it to her as always, she- she beat me to it. She sputtered out the word "tough". Her face had twisted up into the cutest little expression at the sight of me bawling. It took me a few seconds to realize it, but Christ, I had just heard Alecia say her first word-"

Steve broke down, shaking and sobbing as the realization hit him. He'd never hear that voice again. He'd never see her tough personality shine through when they played or talked.

Bucky wrapped Steve up in a tight embrace, letting him cry on his shoulder. Bucky decided to try to learn more about this girl; maybe get Steve to open up more. "So how'd you find her parents?"

 

Steve and Bucky separated while the skinny blond wiped at his eyes quickly. "After I'd had her for a year, I decided that the neighborhood I was in wasn't good for her, so I moved here with her. I made friends with Mrs. and Mrs. Carter. They were newlyweds at the time, and as I got closer to them, they revealed that they'd tried and failed to have a baby many times. So, I figured, 'Hey, why not? I live close, and there's a chance I'll still get to see her. So, I gave Alecia over to them. They named her that; before, I'd just called her Kid. She changed my life forever, I don't know how to deal with this."

Bucky held Steve's hand, leaning in to kiss Steve as he had no amount of words that could console Steve. As their lips met, Steve's eyes fluttered shut. Bucky lifted his flesh hand to cup Steve's face as he swiped his tongue across Steve's bottom lip, desperate for entrance, which Steve granted by sucking Bucky's tongue eagerly. Bucky moaned into his mouth, the sensation of Steve's cold lip ring on his lip sending Bucky reeling, his hands moving down to slip under Steve's shirt and feel his torso; feel how his skin slightly stretched over his ribs, how his hips went into a 'v' shape as his hands wandered lower. 

Steve moaned softly as Bucky's thumbs alternated between rubbing his hipbones and squeezing them occasionally as they kissed. After a few minutes, they separated, practically gasping for air, faces red and bodies warm. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve's waist as they both lay down, Steve huddling closer to Bucky's larger form for warmth. Bucky buried his face in Steve's neck, humming appreciatively and making Steve chuckle unexpectedly. Bucky's head shot up as he smiled slyly.

"Stevie is ticklish, huh? Well, well, well, I oughta-"

"You touch me and you're a dead man, Barnes," Steve said, sleep slowly taking him over. "Go to sleep before I knock you out myself, you jerk."

"What a punk," Bucky chuckled, laying back down.

"Shut up. We need rest if we're gonna get back on that bastard's trail tomorrow," Steve said, hardness and malice returning to his voice one more. 

_At least he slowed down for a night,_ Bucky thought as he drifted off.

That night, Bucky had dreams of living life happily with Steve, and Steve had dreams of killing the person that took his pride and joy from him.


	7. Stay Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The phrase "staying inside" has two very different meanings when it comes to Steve and Bucky.

Dawn rolled around again, just as always, and Bucky shifted in bed again, rolling around a bit before he finally went to cuddle back up to Steve. When he reached for the skinny blond, he felt nothing but sheets. Grumbling and groggy, Bucky found some pants on the floor and got into them, getting out of bed and going to locate Steve. As he walked through the house, he peered into each room to find that Steve wasn't in any of them. Bucky finally decided to get himself some coffee in the kitchen, where a folded piece of paper was stuck haphazardly to the coffee machine. It looked like someone had put it there in a rush.

 

Bucky yawned, stretching and popping a few of his joints before he finally got the note and read it. _Whoever wrote this has sloppy penmanship,_ Bucky thought as he skimmed the letter first. He soon found out that it was Steve who wrote the letter, because he noticed that the i's were dotted the same way Steve dots his. Bucky read the letter to himself quickly.

 

_Good morning, Buck. If you're reading this, I'm probably in the next town over by now. I got a lead on where Alecia's killer might be, so don't worry too much about me. I'll be fine. Don't call the police, either. I feel like I'm missing something important... oh yeah, don't forget to feed Thunder and check on Alecia's parents. Don't try to find me, I should be back by tonight. And don't drink too much coffee, you know it gives you the jitters if you drink too much of that stuff. Stay warm, play with Thunder, stay in the house._

_Call Nat and tell her to watch the shop for me today. Tell her not to make any appointments and to just do stuff like making purchases for customers and answering whatever questions they might have._

_This part is probably the most important, so read it carefully: DO NOT GO OUTSIDE. DON'T EVEN GO TO GET THE PAPER.  _

_Don't even go near the door if someone knocks. If someone knocks, let Thunder bark while you go somewhere safe in another part of the house and call me. Don't call the authorities, don't call 911. Call me._

_I'll tell you everything when I get home, I promise._

_-Steve_

 

Under his name, Steve had left the numbers for Alecia's parents, Natasha, and himself. Bucky scoffed.  _Yeah, like I didn't already know this idiot's number,_ Bucky thought.

 

Bucky could practically hear Steve's voice while he read the letter. Bucky scowled, reading it a second time just to be sure he actually read the part of the letter that told him not to go outside.

 

"Not even to get the paper," Bucky said as he put the letter down and put food in Thunder's bowl. Thunder raced into the kitchen at the sound of his bowls being filled with food, and he almost knocked Bucky over in the process.

 

As Bucky regained his balance, he had yet to recollect his thoughts, which were currently all over the place. It wasn't even 6 AM yet, and Bucky Barnes was already confused. He poured himself some coffee and sat down at the dining room table, where Steve's documents were scattered. The blond had always said, "Bucky, if you touch any of these papers, I swear you're gonna be in for the biggest beating of your life." Bucky looked through the papers before him as that phrase went through his head, and he figured that, if he put the papers back the way they were, nobody would find out that Bucky was being nosy.

 

There was a lot of stuff in those papers that Bucky couldn't even _begin_ to understand, but he caught a few things written in his language that he could understand. Apparently, Steve was after a man who was known on the streets as "251," and he didn't seem to have a name on record. Bucky knows he has to have some type of actual name; babies can't leave the hospital without one, his lawyer dad had told him that when he was a kid.

 

He distinctly remembers asking his dad why his parents had him at a hospital after that, because, at the time, Bucky was in a phase where he didn't want the name he had. At seven years old, the boy would've been fine with having no name if it meant that people wouldn't mess his real name up as much as they did.

 

Bucky smiled fondly at the memory as Thunder came to lay at his feet while he read through more papers. By the time he felt tired of leafing through a bunch of legal nonsense, it was 8 AM. Bucky got up from his seat and stretched his limbs, producing an exaggerated groan in the process.

* * *

As Steve drove through the town on roads that weren't completely new to him, he tapped on the steering wheel and thought. He thought about Bucky, about Alecia and her parents, about his life in general. He also thought about what would happen if he saw 251. He thought about how it would go down. Steve had a gun in his glove box and a large knife stowed away in his jacket. He had a feeling that something big would happen today, and he didn't know whether to shout for joy or go back home and never get out of bed.

 

He was scared, and just like every other time he was scared, he didn't want to admit it. He was scared for Alecia's parents, he was scared for his relationship with Bucky, he was scared for himself. Don't get him wrong, he knows that he doesn't have to worry for himself. He's a grown man, he knows what's best for him and what's not.

 

It's just that no matter how hard he tries- no matter how often he tells himself _no-_ he still does something stupid, and he does it in the name of some stupid cause he's thought up to justify whatever he's doing so he won't feel bad. Steve knows he could call the authorities, he knows he could have 251 hunted down in a matter of days, maybe even _hours_.

* * *

 

 

Except Steve had some personal issues to handle with this rat. Before Steve had stumbled across Alecia, he was nineteen years old and in college at NYU. Imagine Steve looking the same as he does now, except he's a few inches shorter and way sadder, and you've got 19 year old Steve Rogers in a nutshell. He was lonely and failing in multiple classes, and all he really wanted to do was put tattoos on people and not have any responsibilities. To top all of it off, he barely earned any money interning at that tattoo parlor off campus. The hours were bad, the owner treated him like shit, and he wasn't enjoying himself at all. 

 

He didn't think he really had time for anything but school and work, so talking to people other than his mother was kind of hard. That all changed when a new student named Brock Rumlow sat next to him in his psych class. He told Steve that everyone just called him Rumlow because he hated the name Brock, and Steve automatically felt a great deal of pity for the guy. 

 

As time went on, Rumlow and Steve became good friends, and they finally moved into a dorm together, sharing the cost of rent. As they lived together, they got closer, and soon enough, they became lovers.

 

One night, as Steve and Brock (Rumlow finally got comfortable with Steve calling him Brock) were getting lazing around and talking about nothing and everything as lovers do, Brock got a call. Steve wouldn't have a problem with that if it weren't for the way he answered. 

 

"251 here," Brock said into the phone, listening to the person on the other end intently. "Is anyone with me? No, no," Brock look at Steve and shrugged. "Right now, though? Listen, today was supposed to be my- I know that- I can't push today- No, I don't want anyone to come, but- Fine, I'll be there in about ten minutes." Brock hung up, turning to Steve. "Listen, Steve, I-"

 

"Who the hell is 251? And why can't you "push" today, Brock? And who the hell do you not want to come?" Steve asked as Brock was pulling on his jacket and heading out the door with a short answer of "Don't follow me, Steve." The slam of the door put the conversation on hold until Steve saw Brock again.

 

It was late the next day when Brock came home; Steve was waiting for him there. He couldn't understand why Brock wasn't open with him as usual. Hell, Steve could even go as far to say that Brock seemed paranoid. When Brock walked through the door, his emotions of anger and confusion seeped into his words as he questioned Rumlow. "Where the hell have you been? Why do you smell like smoke? Why did you tell me not to follow you? Why are you calling yourself 251, Brock?" Steve asked, his mind racing as Brock sighed and shook his head, shrugging.

 

Steve looked at the taller boy incredulously, and he honestly felt as if he were getting angrier every time Brock drew in a breath. "What the fuck do you mean you don't know, Brock? Or should I call you 251 now? What are you doing behind my back, Brock? Is there someone else? Am I not good enough for you, huh? Tell me what's happening, Brock."

 

Brock suddenly became very interested in his boots as he shook his head and groaned out of exasperation. "Don't call me 251, Stevie," Brock said as he scratched at his arm. "I thought you trusted me. You know that there's not anyone else."

 

Steve scoffed. "Don't call me Stevie if you can't tell me why you're calling yourself 251." Steve noticed that Brock's arm seemed to itch quite a lot these days. He thought about that for a second until he finally caught on. His face softened as he took the few steps the close the distance between the two boys. "Are you sure there's not any _thing_ else, Brock?" Steve asked as he slowly reached for Rumlow's arm. 

 

Steve then snatched Brock's arm up, seeing little marks from where needles had been injected into his arm in multiple places. Steve looked from Brock's arm to his eyes, and back to his arm again. He looked back up at Brock in disbelief as he yanked his arm from Steve's grip. "Steve-"

 

"Brock, what is it? Heroin? Cocaine? What is it, Brock? What the hell is-"

 

"Shut up Steve! You don't know shit! Y-You don't get it," Brock shouted as he stood over Steve menacingly in their apartment's tiny kitchen. Steve tried to push Brock away, he tried to tell him that everything would be okay.

 

"Come on, Brock. Just sit down, we can talk, I can help you-"

 

Before Steve could tell what hit him, he was on the floor and Brock had vanished. He had a black eye, a massive headache, and a boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) who wouldn't return his calls. He never stopped looking for Brock, though. He never stopped calling, either. One day, he must've been too persistent in his searching for Rumlow, because he got a call from an unlisted number. He knew better than to answer it, but that didn't stop him from doing it anyway.

 

"Steven G. Rogers, with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" Steve asked, his tone quite chipper, despite all the shit that had occurred over the past few weeks. 

 

"Shut the fuck up, man, you sound like a fag. Listen,  _Steve,_ I need you to hear this loud and clear. You listenin' homeboy?" The man on the other side asked. Steve got quiet for a few minutes, but finally mumbled a low "Yes," and listened intently.

 

"Stop lookin' for our man 251. You know too much, and if you tell a single soul about our little operation, or you tell anyone about Brock or anything that you know, you'll be dead, alright, homeboy? We might even go as far as kill your family if you fuck up. We know where you and your family are, and we won't hesitate to fuck you up. So, just to make it clear, I'll repeat it for you:  _We don't wanna hear a peep out of you about Brock and our operation, and you need to stop lookin' for him._ "

 

And then Steve heard a click, and the other person was gone. Steve was scared, and for the first time in his life, he actually followed his mother's instructions. She always told him to go to the police if a situation got out of control.

 

And obeying his mother was the worst mistake he could've ever made.

* * *

 

Two weeks later on July 4, his 20th birthday, his mother, Sarah Rogers, was fatally shot while she was on her way to her home in Brooklyn. There was no funeral, seeing as there was no family to invite. His father died of liver failure when Steve was sixteen, and all other extended family had died years before. He just buried his mom in an NYC cemetery, spending his first two days of being twenty years old talking to a headstone in the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written anything in a looong time. happy new year


	8. He's Volunteered With Grace To End Your Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am not your friend, I am just a man who knows how to feel; I am not your friend, I'm not your lover, I'm not your- 
> 
> ***self harm, abuse, death, suicide, and graphic violence in this chapter, be warned hombres.***

It was 10 AM, and Bucky had already talked to Alecia's parents, called (a very grumpy) Nat and informed her of the situation. He fed Thunder, put on some warm clothes, and found some movies to watch. He figured that these things would get his mind off of the worry from Steve that kept swimming to the front of his head; alas, he felt as if dread were a pool of dark sludge, and as the day went by, it slowly but surely flooded his skull, impacting his judgement and making him feel as if the small chip on his shoulder had grown into a crushing boulder that he couldn't hold for much longer.

 

He felt as if he were a burden to good ol' Stevie, he figured that, maybe, just maybe, their chance meeting was a mistake. He felt so out of place, so useless for not being able to do anything. He was so tired of feeling as if anything would be better than just struggling to make sure he was happy. Bucky had never been sure of himself, and even as a child, he always knew he was out of place. 

 

Something always told him that he would never be the protagonist of his own story. Some voice inside of him always told him that he'd never be significant; he'd never be right. His teeth would always be a little crooked, he hair would never stay the way it was supposed to, his heart would never stay in one place. Ever since he turned eighteen, Bucky could never be one-hundred percent honest. He was always lying to himself or to others about one thing or another. He lied about his upbringing, he lied about the abuse from his big-time lawyer dad, he lied about his happiness. He was a liar.

 

Nobody wants a fucking liar, and James Buchanan Barnes knows that quite well.

 

 

He just doesn't want to believe it.

 

* * *

Steve finally found his way downtown after hours of dead end roads and asking for directions. He passed by his childhood home, he passed by his old friend's house, the same place his mom would drag him home from when he stayed at band practice too late (" _Mom," Steve had said as his mother drove him home, "we're gonna be as big as the Ramones one of these days."),_ and he passed the university where he met Rumlow. He drove up to the cemetery to say hi to his mother, too.  _  
_

"I don't have any flowers for you, Mom, but I have a lot of news," Steve said as he sat in front of his mother's headstone, "The good news is that I think I love someone, but the bad news is that I'm in trouble. People I love are dying again, just like before, when Brock's boys took you out. Don't worry, though, I'm so close to getting them, I'm so close, I swear I'm gonna do this for you," Steve said as he started to shake as memories of his mother hit him like a speeding train. She always told him not to be violent, always told him to turn the other cheek. She reminded him to never try to get revenge, no matter what.

 

_"Don't do it, Stevie," Sarah said as she helped her son pack for college. "No matter what someone does to you, or to me, or to whoever you come to love, you never try to get revenge on somebody. Never try to fight somebody. You forgive them; you hear me? Stevie," Steve's mom continued as she stopped him from packing and held his face in her hands and looked at her amazing boy, tears threatening to fall from her soft eyes. "You're growing up. You have to keep yourself out of trouble. This isn't like in high school, when I could come and pick you up and scold you for fighting kids, even though you had a good reason to. You're about to step into the real world, and not many people out there are as understanding as I am."_

 

_Steve hugged his mom, chuckling softly as she muttered about how she would miss her son and how she was so afraid that this amazing boy would get lost out there in that big world. "Mom, you know I'm old enough to understand that. You know I've grown out of that, you know I understand that. Don't cry, Christmas'll be around before you know it, and I'll be back to tell you about my boring year and how I didn't get into any fights."_

 

His mother would be ashamed to see Steve now, but he knew that if he didn't do this, nobody he knew would be safe. He picked himself up off of the ground and went to his car, driving off to find 251 himself.

* * *

Back at home, Bucky replayed the bits and pieces of his life that he could remember. He made it into a (sort of) list in his mind as he absentmindedly petted Thunder, who whined quietly when Bucky would stop for a few seconds.

 

  1. Age Four- Dad hits me with a belt if I cry about school. If I tell him that it hurts, he slaps me in the face. Mom watches quietly.
  2. Age Five-  Dad tells me that he and mom regret not whipping me more at an early age. He tells me that a lot. Mother quietly tells me that it's not true. Dad overhears and hits her.
  3. Age Six- On my sixth birthday, nobody celebrates. "So what, you're alive another year," Dad says. Mom just gives a curt nod and wishes me happy birthday when dad can't see. My teacher gives me extra time at nap time since it's my birthday and dad told her not to say anything about it; at least she feels some type of pity.
  4. Age Seven- I don't remember much, I just remember being violently ill after being locked out of the house and caught in the rain one day.
  5. Age Eight- I don't remember anything.
  6. Age Nine- I don't remember a thing.
  7. Age Ten- I've skipped a grade; all I've done for the past few years is read old academic books I've stolen from dad's library when he's not home. Dad starts acting like he loves me while he parades me in front of his friends at the firm. "Look at my little genius, he's ten years old and he's going into sixth grade!"
  8. Age Eleven- I find out that I might like boys; I don't ask mom or dad anything about it because I've heard about how they talk about people that feel the same way I feel.
  9. Age Twelve- Dad caught me kissing my study partner (who happened to be one of dad's partner's sons) in my room one afternoon. He's shipped me off to one of those camps that are proven to get the gay out of you.
  10. Age Thirteen- They were starving and beating us at the camp; me, along with a few others, ran away while everyone else was asleep. They sent dogs after us, but we walked a few miles and found a police station.
  11. Age Fourteen- We won't tell anyone who our parents are or where we came from; we lie and say that we don't remember anything but waking up in the forest behind the camp. They separate us and put us in foster homes. I remember being sad because I had just started making friends out of those people.
  12. Age Fifteen- I start cutting myself. I don't really understand why everything bad seems to happen to me. Every single house I get shipped off to turns out to be a bad environment, so I get put back, kind of like a bad product that you return to a store if you have the receipt. 
  13. Age Sixteen- I keep working at school. I have a job at the corner store near the foster home, my boss asks why I always seem to get injured when it comes to my wrists. I just laugh and say that I always get scuffed up on accident because I work in my parents' garden. If only I had parents.
  14. Age Seventeen- I get my own cell phone, and I get a call from a number I'll never forget- god, please let me forget it, please- i can still hear the little ring, i can see it all, it's so vivid, my head hurts, make it stop-



 

_"Hello? Bucky, it's your father," The man speaking hacks out a violent cough. "Come back home, please. We're sorry for treating you badly. We love you so much."_

_Lies. Bucky knows it's all a big lie. He was born into a family of liars, and now he's one himself, he knows a blatant lie when he hears one. He gathers up all of the courage he's kept hidden away in his battered soul and finally speaks. "Let me talk to my mom. I don't know who you are, sir," Bucky says, his voice not shaking in the slightest bit. "Please hand the phone to Ms. Barnes."_

_"That's why I called. Your mom is dead."_

_Bucky hangs up. He tells Mrs. Andrews, the owner of the foster home, that he's going to fix something for his boss at work. She sees the panic in his eyes. she knows that he never likes to talk, so she tells the boy to be safe and lets him go._

_James goes to the nearby lake and considers drowning himself. Instead, he throws the phone in when it' starts chirping out that sad, annoying ringtone and sits. He sits there until it gets dark, and just when he's considering sleeping there for the night, one of eighteen year olds from the foster home calls him a piece of worthless shit and tells him to come home._

 

15\. Age Eighteen- I'm legally an adult. I'm really happy that I can get out of that foster home and into college, but I'm angry that I don't have parents helping me into my dorm like everyone else at NYU.  I cut some more. Since I obviously don't have my job at the corner store anymore, I start working in a saw mill off campus. I misuse the machines and accidentally cut off my left arm on the first day, a few days before my 19th birthday.

16\. Age Nineteen- I'm in the hospital on my birthday, nobody comes to visit, but the nurse pities me and talks to me. She asks me about my aspirations; she asks about what I might want to do with my life after NYU. She also asks where my parents are. I tell her I don't have any. She tells me that I should meet her husband; she says we both have sad, easy eyes. The next day, she brings her husband ( _"Bring Your Spouse To Work Day," she says with a laugh. "Look, John, I told you that you have the same eyes. Isn't he a wonderful boy?"_ ), and one thing leads to another, and soon enough, Mrs. Winifred Johnson ( _"Call me Winnie, sweetie," she says with a silly grin. "Only my mother called me Winifred, and she only did that when she was angry."_ ) and Mr. John Johnson ( _"It's fun to say," the man says, "But don't wear it out, son. Call me Dad."_ ) become my legal guardians. I tell them about my childhood, they tell me that they'll give me something better. They give me hope; they give me amazing dreams. And I get a metal arm where my old one was.

17\. Age Twenty- I'm doing well in college, I haven't cut in a while. I've been going to parties quite often, though. I get wasted and then everything comes flooding back. Even though I hate that feeling; I hate the memories, the way everything is sickly and vivid, I still drink, because it feels good.

18\. Age Twenty-One- I finish college next year; it was really boring (aside from the drinking), but I got some new experiences. I'm volunteering at a flower shop, and I'm in love with it. But I can't help feeling alone. I know it's partially my fault for not making an effort to make friends, but I also feel like a giant freak with this stupid piece of metal stuck to my body.

19\. Age Twenty-Two- College is over and I've started a floral shop. The flowers make me happy, but I'm still lonely. I went to the doctor and he says that I have depression. I feel shitty for that. I've still lied to people; I've lied to Mom and Dad about how happy I am. 

Bucky decides that he should stop dwelling on his shitty life. He looks through the medicine cabinet for some Advil, because all of this thinking about life has given him a major migraine. 

He then realizes that he's forgotten to take his antidepressants and he grins to himself, because goddamnit Barnes, you are one dense bastard sometimes, but you always push through. 

* * *

 

Steve finds the supposed location of 251 and his gang after a few hours of grumbling about how he should've brought a damn map. 

 

He parks his car a few blocks down and gets his knife from the glove box. As he's walking to meet 251 himself, he hears screaming, and it gets louder the closer he gets. He sees two men wearing dark attire beating a woman. 

 

"We'll ask you one more time, lady. Where's 251's money?" One man asks, forcefully kicking the lady in the stomach, making her scream in pain as she shakes her head forcefully. The men laugh and one pulls a gun out of his waistband and cocks it. "You sure you don't know?"

 

Steve has to force himself to stay where he is; he has to force himself not to run. He gets his gun out of his jacket and cocks it.

 

251's Gang: one, Steve Rogers: zero.

 

The men turn around, hurriedly pointing their guns toward Steve, and he secretly breathed a sigh of relief, because the lady wasn't the focus of their attention anymore. She seemed to understand that, because she started to slowly back away from them while their back were turned.

 

"Man, who the fuck is this?" Asks one man who is slightly taller than the other one. The shorter man's eyes light up with recognition, and he soon has a dangerous smile on his face.

 

"That's the bitch 251 told me about! He said he would be a little dude, but I didn't think he'd be this easy."

"So what are we waiting for, man? Let'stake him out," The taller man says, aiming his gun straight for Steve's head. The shorter man signals for him to stop.

 

"Nah man, 251 said that he wanted him for himself."

 

The two men smile at each other and rush at Steve, and before he knows it, he blacks out.

 

* * *

 

Steve slowly opens his eyes, the throbbing pain in his head waking him up. The single bright light shining on him in the room he's in doesn't help his headache, either. 

 

"Stevie, Stevie, Stevie," Steve hears from across the room, just out of the light. Steve would recognize that hideous voice anywhere.

 

It's Brock.

 

Steve is weak, but that doesn't stop him from being angry. He gets up and walks toward the sound of his voice and reaches in his jacket, feeling nothing. They must've taken his gun when they took him here.

 

Brock laughs at Steve, and as he approaches Rumlow, he can see a gun pointed at him. "Come any closer, Rogers, and you'll end up just like Sarah."

 

Steve isn't one for small talk, and sure isn't about to change that fact now. "Why would you, kill a kid, Rumlow? What the hell do you want from-"

 

Brock swiftly moves from his corner of the room and kicks Steve in the stomach, making him fall to the ground. Steve gets back up, earning a laugh from Brock, who makes a remark about how not a damn thing has changed about Steve. Steve couldn't care less as he kicks at Rumlow's legs forcefully enough to make him fall while he's talking. Steve silently thanks Nat for forcing him to learn some Tae Kwon Do over the summer. He goes to reach for Rumlow's gun, and Brock hits him in the shoulder with it, making Steve shout at the pain as he falls once again.

 

Brock laughs once again, getting up and going to kick at Steve's head. Steve swears under his breath and quickly rolls out of the way, scrambling to his feet.

 

"You know, Steve, you never could stay still. You always fucking squirmed," Brock said, punctuating the last words of his sentence with a series of punches that Steve dodged. Brock went for Steve again, and Steve grabbed his arm in an attempt to get the gun out of Brock's hand.

 

Brock turns his arm so that Steve's is twisted painfully. Steve lets go of Brock's arm and Brock has full control again. He points his gun at Steve's chest and Steve slowly puts his hands up. "Brock, please-"  


 

Brock smiled and cocked his head to the side. "You know, Stevie, if it weren't for your aggressive attitude and your disgusting naivete, you'd have been a good lover to keep around."

 

_BANG!_

_BANG!_

_BANG!_

 

Steve's vision fades.

 

_Please don't let me die in vain, Steve silently prays to whoever is up there._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fighting fighting fighting all of it is fighting, everyone fights, 
> 
> can you tell that I've been listening to Brand New lol
> 
> Title: Limousine- Brand New  
> Summary: Sowing Season- Brand New

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I was really sad.  
> Writing this seems nice!  
> If anyone likes it, I take ficlet requests on my tumblr! sunshinecap.tumblr.com, or, you can give it kudos and I'll write some more. 
> 
> That's a lie. I'll write some more anyway. 
> 
> ~Rogue.


End file.
